


two slow dancers, last ones out

by halfpastwo (orphan_account)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Future Fic, M/M, Mentioned SEVENTEEN Ensemble, Post Disbandment fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/halfpastwo
Summary: Mingyu likes this Jihoon best, open in all the ways he says he isn't, gestures so quiet and filled with love that Mingyu suspects Jihoon doesn't know what to do with the way it overflows. So Jihoon malfunctions, like he's in front of ten cameras being forced to do aegyo instead of under the duvet where no one's watching but Mingyu.(A post-disbandment AU)
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 43
Kudos: 178
Collections: First Love Late Spring, Seventeen Rare Pair Fest: Round 1





	two slow dancers, last ones out

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SVTRarePairFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SVTRarePairFest) collection. 



> to our lovely mods for both the SVT rare pair and the jigyu spring fest, thank you for organizing everything and for putting up with my procrastination 💗🤟🏼 
> 
> as always, to L, for proofreading this even though [she has no idea who the hell any of these ppl are](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EWGDzLYUYAId505?format=jpg&name=small) and for putting up with me misquoting inception when i should've been writing.
> 
> \+ inspired by frances ha and noah gundersen's [lose you](https://open.spotify.com/track/2uQIKQMnQJehiRgu5vFif4?autoplay=true&v=T)  
> \+ title from mitski's [two slow dancers](https://open.spotify.com/album/2BTReUeyCo4p13gE6ntEMO)  
> \+ [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3BhTtNUpeCEIsUzuIvSHNI?si=03BPO8b9RjmWLY7C0SFWoQ)

  
_It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is.  
And when you've got it, you want—  
oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want,  
but it just fairly makes your heart ache,  
you want it so!  
_ — Mark Twain

  


**Rainfall**

The industry keeps moving and so do they. Their latest comeback leaves them so busy, it almost feels like nothing has changed. Or, _will_ change.

At least that’s how Mingyu prefers to look at it, grateful for something to do and relieved at the way his body moves in tandem with the others; the way it responds so naturally to three hours of sleep and all of the power naps taken behind dressing room couches and in makeup chairs.

And anyway, Mingyu likes to think he has… whatever the opposite of an avoidant personality is, so it’s not like he’s distracting himself. It’s just—he has no time to think, or ponder the future, even if that future might be hurtling towards him at 25,000 miles per hour like a blazing meteorite. In fact, he’s only allowed to think three minutes ahead, like what his next meal will be or how he can bother Seungkwan while he watches the highlights from the Women’s Tokyo Volleyball Qualifications ("I MISSED THAT JUMP SERVE.").

But of course, the meteorite comes crashing down near the tail end of their comeback.

They’ve been locked in contract negotiations for nearly three weeks. It's hard to describe how he feels, sitting in meeting after meeting, watching the people he cares about most juggle a vague collective future together against individual futures, each one sounding more certain than the next. In this space, he can't seem to find the words, the uncertainty in his voice too much for him to stomach among everything else.

It was different when they were working towards debuting, when the possibilities felt endless, when they all wanted the same thing. Mingyu can sense the same desperation here, the need to stay together, that desire thrumming in his own mind ( _please please please this is all I have_ ). But nearly a decade later, he knows the desperation varies and that alone feels like an answer.

Instinctively, Mingyu looks to Seungcheol, who’s quiet in a way he isn't used to seeing.

"We've spent years and years pushing the limits on what we'll sacrifice—" Seungcheol pauses, eyes shiny. "Maybe it's time to stop pushing, to find that limit again."

 _In other words_ , Mingyu thinks, _maybe it's time for us to stop_.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Love**

The Inkigayo recording runs longer than expected so by the time Mingyu gets back to the dorm, the birds outside are locked in a full-fledged competition on who will keep him up the longest.

The night air is chilly and brisk, remnants from a long winter still clinging onto the underside of spring. Normally, it's easy for Mingyu to enjoy this kind of weather, when the days are thawing into something warmer, more tolerable than the last few months of snow and frigid cold. But Mingyu's limbs are heavy, like they're being weighed down by stones, and he's too cold from the company car's busted heater to pay much attention. 

Surprisingly, Jihoon is in their room, phone screen casting a ghoulish glow in the pitch black. Without taking his eyes off his phone, Jihoon says, "Oh, you're home?" 

Mingyu makes a noncommittal sound. There's a draft coming in from the half open window, which he suspects is Jihoon thinking pneumonia is worth a high score on SuperStar Pledis. 

"You're back early," Mingyu says, crossing the room to close the window, the act itself sapping the last of his energy. "Thought you'd be at the studio all night." 

"Got kicked out. Seungcheol's orders," Jihoon drawls, purposely clipped and to the point as if _he's_ the one conserving energy. 

A night like this calls for personal space, for Mingyu to crawl into bed wordlessly, maybe put on a face mask and then accidentally fall asleep with it on. But there are a lot of exceptions tonight, like the way he feels strangely sensitive at being away from the others, running around on his own schedule, feeling like he doesn't have the right. He's loved at the broadcasting show, this much he knows, but even that feels like poking at an open wound.

So Mingyu makes an executive decision and climbs into Jihoon's bed. It takes a minute to settle in, because Mingyu hasn't exactly mastered the art of subtlety and has even less control over his limbs when he's tired. He nearly knocks Jihoon's phone out of his hands and onto his face.

"You have your own bed." Jihoon grunts in the middle of this awkward rearrangement, looking personally affronted at the intrusion.

They settle on something semi-comfortable, Mingyu feeling a little cramped in and a tad too warm. He's used to it though, thanks to all those formative years of finding unique ways to make himself fit into small spaces. And anyway, Jihoon can act mad all he wants, but it doesn't mean very much when he's shifting to make room and fluffing the duvet around them, covering Mingyu's side more to account for his freakishly long legs. It makes that weird ache in Mingyu's chest a little easier to deal with.

"Ugh, your outdoor clothes," Jihoon says without bite, a pet peeve of his that Mingyu doesn't understand even after years of being roommates. "What, no skincare routine tonight?" 

"What's the point if I can't feel my face?" 

Mingyu doesn't expect much in response, maybe a half-hearted sound of mutual understanding, but Jihoon places his phone down, submerging them into darkness. “Long day today?” 

Mingyu finds he can’t really answer. There's a lump in his throat that has no discernible reason for being there. Their lives are characterized by long days, but today, his solo activities felt like being propelled into the future at sonic speed; like being whipped around on that Zipper carnival ride he rode with Minghao all those years ago on a dare. Except this time, he's all alone and unanchored, free floating in space.

Mingyu could get into it, sure that Jihoon would listen. But he decides this isn't something they need right now, not when contract negotiations are all they can think about these days and they have to carry on like it isn’t. So he closes his eyes and allows himself to entertain the idea of normalcy, of life away from long car rides at the break of dawn, away from tight jeans and foundation two shades too light for his skin; of Jihoon, of a shared apartment, of home cooked meals and peace and quiet.

This thought makes him say, “I still want us to be roommates." 

"That's a given," Jihoon says easily, like he knows exactly what Mingyu is trying to say and it makes him smile.

"Picture," Mingyu starts, shifting a little to face him, "in the near distant future, you win a Grammy for Best Pop Album. You can place it right next to that ugly Joker doll in our apartment—"

" _Ugly_?"

"Did I say ugly? I meant... well, yeah, ugly. You're lucky I'm letting you keep it at all—"

Jihoon kicks at him lightly and then laughs when Mingyu nearly falls out of the bed.

"What about you? What award am I placing next to my Grammy?"

"Most Handsome Face." Mingyu says it lightheartedly, because he's good at that, but he surprises himself when his voice catches. _Is it true? Is that all you'll be when this is over?_

As if reading his mind, Jihoon shakes his head, drawing out the vowels. "Surprisingly, you are more than just a handsome face, _Mingoo_."

Before the words can flutter down and rest in the space between them, Jihoon picks up his phone as a badly veiled attempt at a distraction, the light nearly blinding them both. It's an obvious tell; Jihoon is embarrassed, the brightness of the screen betraying how red his ears are.

Mingyu likes this Jihoon best, open in all the ways he says he isn't, gestures so quiet and filled with love that Mingyu suspects Jihoon doesn't know what to do with the way it overflows. So Jihoon malfunctions, like he's in front of ten cameras being forced to do aegyo instead of under the duvet where no one's watching but Mingyu.

Handling the situation with care so as to not scare the deer in headlights, Mingyu says, "Tell me our escape plan." 

Jihoon turns to him, blinking owlishly. "Right now?"

(Their escape plan—a half baked scheme Mingyu came up with when the group was drunk on peach soju, celebrating DWC’s fifth consecutive win. Jihoon was the only one listening, but Mingyu didn't mind the attention, relished in it even, hashing out the details with so much enthusiasm and vigor, he nearly punched Chan in the face. Jihoon couldn't stop laughing.)

Mingyu thinks he's about to say no, that it's late and they should sleep, because their alarms will ring soon and their manager will beckon them to _wake up or we're going to be late! Again!_ But Jihoon puts his phone down, turning to him, mirroring Mingyu’s position. 

Jihoon looks contemplative before he starts. "We'll hotwire a company car and we'll drive and drive until we find a cozy farm run by an elderly couple, who you'll charm—"

"I've been told I'm very charming."

"And they'll decide to retire and leave us their estate because we're the grandchildren they never had and so we'll run this farm and raise cows and goats and chickens—"

"So many chickens. In honour of Soonyoung hyung."

"You make him sound like he's dead," Jihoon flicks at him and Mingyu laughs. Jihoon continues. "And we'll tell them all about us, about Seventeen, but not just how many awards we won or how many number ones we earned, but about the memories we made, all the laughter, the tears, the sweat. Everything." 

Mingyu hums, eyes closed. After a beat, Jihoon whispers into the quiet dark, off-script, "Maybe we'll get sick of each other. Then I'll have to build an extra room for Soonyoung and I'll be forced to grow old with him. Oh god."

"I won't get sick of you," Mingyu says in a drowsy haze. "I'll have to stick around anyway. For our animals because they'll definitely miss me. Also, I can't see you building anything, let alone a whole room. It looks like you need me." 

Jihoon huffs out a laugh. “I’m sure your cross stitching skills will come in handy.”

There's a long pause where the air goes quiet and fuzzy. Mingyu feels like he's drifting and somewhere in the foggy grey area of his mind, he realizes he's still fully clothed, that this isn't his bed, that Jihoon doesn't appreciate outdoor clothes on clean sheets, that maybe he should move. 

But when Mingyu shifts his weight on the mattress, Jihoon mumbles, "Stay. If you want." 

So, Mingyu stays, curling himself into the warm weight of Jihoon's body, soft and yielding and falls asleep soundly, birds be damned.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Transient**

They're in Jihoon's studio, sitting in the warm, blue glow of the lights, willfully ignoring the growing pile of ramen cups and snack wrappers piling on the coffee table.

From time to time, Jihoon will ask him for his opinion, playing quick clips of an instrumental or a chord progression on his keyboard. From time to time, Mingyu will make Jihoon take random quizzes ( _What Jonas Brother album are you?_ ) or read Soonyoung's fancafe replies to make him laugh.

It feels so inane that Mingyu forgets they're scheduled for a full day tomorrow, as if this is just another promotion cycle, business as usual—work, work, work, take a break and keep Jihoon company so he remembers to eat and drink water.

Except the truth is, it's their last album together, decided unanimously after a deadlock. The military-like preparations are already underway with the album slated for a release in between Japanese promotions and their upcoming concert. Understandably, they're all under a lot of stress; Jihoon especially, shouldering the burden of coming up with the right words to pen down, words Mingyu would never be able to find to describe what the end of the road really looks like.

The truth is, there's an invisible clock counting down the minutes they have with each other and they're all keeping track. It's almost funny to see the way they double up doing the most innocuous things, like Seungkwan trailing after Wonwoo to the convenience store; like Minghao following Jeonghan around the kitchen while he makes a cup of tea; like Hansol and Joshua glued to the hip while watching three films in one night; like how nobody ever refuses an invitation to go out to eat so eventually, Seungcheol has to keep calling ahead to make reservations for thirteen.

Because the truth is, half of them aren't re-signing.

Mingyu is in a precarious middle, unsure of where he falls: re-signing or leaving, red pill or blue pill. He doesn't know where Jihoon falls either. He likes to think they've both landed themselves in that grey middle, wonders if that's an option, if Jihoon has considered staying there with him. But as he watches Jihoon click away viciously at his computer, Mingyu gets a feeling in his gut, like he knows something is over before it actually happens.

"Hyung," Mingyu calls out almost nervously, recalling flashbacks of when they were kids, when Mingyu was intimidated by Jihoon, even when Mingyu was the one hitting the growth spurt. "I forgot to ask how your meeting went. With Seongsu hyung." 

Jihoon turns to him, head tilted like he's mulling over what to say. "Only Seungcheol and Soonyoung know about this and I was going to tell you, too." He pauses. "The company offered me an exclusive contract as a producer and I—I think I'm going to sign it." 

It's not a surprise by any means, but it catches Mingyu off guard anyway, and for all the wrong reasons. There's a selfish, immature part of him that wonders what it must feel like to be the first person Jihoon tells these things to; what it must feel like not to be an afterthought, hanging onto the tail ends of more important people like Seungcheol and Soonyoung. 

Of course he's projecting; Jihoon isn't cruel and Mingyu knows there are group dynamics he just isn't a part of. Still, it scrapes at something raw inside his chest, knowing that Jihoon isn't tethered to the same string of fate as him, the one taut with uncertainty and fear. How could he be, when Jihoon holds so much magic and brilliance that spills over in waves. It's pure naïvety of Mingyu to think he can contain the ocean in his hands.

"That's great!" Mingyu says and means it. "I knew this would happen!" Then he lets himself ramble on and on about what this will mean for Jihoon—all of the songs he'll write, the freedom he'll get, the royalties—because it's easier for Mingyu to be happy for the ones he cares about, easier to let their happiness mask the growing storm in his chest.

Jihoon smiles, but he fidgets and looks almost guilty. Something rattles in Mingyu's chest at the implication, like maybe all along as Jihoon was laughing at the ideas they volleyed back and forth, it was never a serious option; a placeholder for future plans that involved the two of them, but only in passing, lacking permanence.

Mingyu feigns a deep wounded sigh, trying to keep things lighthearted, to keep the rattling in his chest at bay. "Anyway, I was looking forward to our chickens. What a shame."

If Jihoon wants to say something, the moment passes too quickly for it. Instead, Jihoon nudges him with his shoulder, lips tugging at the corners and turns back to his screen. 

Though Mingyu wants a lot of things all at once, Jihoon isn't a trophy meant to collect dust. And he's glad that at the very least, Jihoon knows this much too.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Fever**

Mingyu's first solo year goes by in a tornado of paperwork and readjustments to a new home—a modest company with an impressive alumni of models and actors.

They had released a statement about his exclusive contract, almost like a glowing report card: _Mingyu has shown his exceptional talent as a former member of Seventeen and we plan on fully supporting him in all the areas he chooses to pursue_. The others text him their congratulations and joke about seeing him on the runway during Seoul Fashion Week. 

For the first few months, Mingyu feels productive. He opens an Instagram account again, posting regularly, mostly pictures he's taken from his Nikon. He's booked for a string of photoshoots in both familiar and unfamiliar publications and a dozen brand endorsements. He's also in talks to star in an upcoming web drama. It all feels promising and it keeps him busy enough, inspiring bouts of frenetic energy that makes the staff members laugh.

As always, Mingyu prefers to view things as if nothing has changed. He meets some of them regularly, like Seokmin for coffee when he isn't busy with preparations for his musical; lunch with Seungkwan, Soonyoung and Chan at the Mnet building they often work at and breakfast with Minghao and Junhui when they catch the red-eye to Korea. He doesn't get to see everyone, but they make themselves known in some way—Wonwoo sends him a coffee truck on the day of his first pictorial with _Vogue_ , Hansol sends him music recommendations, Seungcheol and Jeonghan send him photos from campus and Joshua Facetimes him from home in LA.

Jihoon is a little more elusive than the rest, opting to sleep during the day and work mostly at night. Mingyu only finds out about this schedule after waking up to Jihoon's texts sent at four AM, often incoherent and delirious. Like the one time Jihoon sent a photo of his mismatched slippers and said _what the hell i was wondering why my feet were so uncomfortable_. They don't ask to meet up for coffee or dinner. 

It feels easy, codependent and familiar, but the more he moves forward, the more the panic in his chest becomes apparent. The tungsten lights from the photoshoots don't compare to the ones on stage, and filming fried chicken commercials are not nearly as entertaining without the others suffering alongside him.

In dressing rooms, it's strange not to hear Joshua and Seokmin playing Super Smash Bros or Jeonghan bickering with Seungkwan. When Mingyu wakes up from dozing off in make-up chairs, he doesn't see Hansol tucked away in a corner with his earbuds in or any familiar faces sleeping on couches or on the floor. During lunch, he eats alone, sometimes with other staff members, but he misses watching Soonyoung try to swallow a hamburger in one bite, misses Wonwoo and Jihoon's fascinated expressions as they look on. When Mingyu makes his way to the vending machines, it's strange not to see Chan there already paying for carbonated drinks with Seungcheol's wallet.

The offers keep pouring in anyway, and there's no talk about music or performing.

  
  
  


On a late spring night, Jeonghan invites him out to get tteokbokki. When Mingyu meets him at a food cart in Myeongdong, he visibly deflates with relief as if he was scared Jeonghan wouldn't show up. Mingyu tells him as much and Jeonghan laughs, pretending to be offended. "Do you really think so lowly of me, Mingyu-yah?"

It's a damp and quiet night so nobody bothers them, leaving them to pile mounds of food onto their plates without feeling guilty. Mingyu is suddenly reminded of a time this would've been excruciating, to be alone with Jeonghan without someone tagging along. They used to always fight over their differences in embarrassingly childish ways, but now, they sit in amicable silence, Jeonghan piling more food onto Mingyu's plate.

Over steaming plates of tteokbokki and bindaetteok, they bounce off of each other, sharing stories about their solo endeavors. Jeonghan tells him about the courses he's taking at Hanyang, how bizarre it feels to be sitting in classrooms like he's been a normal student this whole time, about how often he forgets to do assignments so he has to find ways to charm the professor to give him an extension.

Mingyu tells him about the endless photoshoots, the MC gig on M Countdown, the embarrassing coconut shrimp commercial he had to film ASMR style. Mingyu doesn't tell him about how it feels to reorient yourself back to one body instead of one group, about the pang of loss, like the pain from a phantom limb.

Instead, Mingyu asks, curious, "Is there a reason you called me out tonight?"

"What, treating you to food as the amazing hyung that I am isn't a good enough reason?"

Mingyu rolls his eyes. "You told me the second we sat down that I'm paying!"

"Like the good dongsaeng that you are." Jeonghan pats him on the head and Mingyu bristles. Then he shrugs as he shoves a piece of rice cake in his mouth. "I don't know, I just wanted to check up on you. I saw Jihoonie the other day and he looked like shit. It makes me worry about the rest of you guys." 

"Wait, you saw Jihoon?" Mingyu's hands still. "When? Where? With who?"

"That's a lot of questions." Jeonghan comments, raising an eyebrow at him.

Mingyu flushes and only hopes that Jeonghan chalks it up to the spice and heat. "I just haven't seen him in a while. Actually, I think he's the only person I haven't seen yet since, you know." 

"He's just busy. Pledis is debuting a new boy group soon or something." Jeonghan takes a sip of water and gives him a look. "It was just a quick meet up at a coffee shop near campus. With Seungcheol and Soonyoungie. I'll invite you next time."

Mingyu makes a noncommittal sound and pretends to busy himself with more food even though he finds he isn't very hungry anymore. Of course it shouldn't matter whether he sees Jihoon or not, or that Jihoon has been out with the others ( _Seungcheol_ and _Soonyoung_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully, and now Jeonghan, Jihoon's favourite hyung). They text frequently and it should be enough. The other day, Jihoon had sent him a text asking him for his opinion on a TV stand from IKEA. Mingyu had replied _wouldn't match with your coffee table ㅠㅠ_ , but it almost made him feel sick, the images of another life bouncing around in his head, an indescribable ache sloshing around in his stomach.

Jeonghan taps him with his chopsticks, getting red sauce all over Mingyu's knuckles. It brings him back, reminds him that he should stay in the present. After all, he thinks, every moment in someone else's company feels fleeting and rare.

"Don't be sulky." Jeonghan grins, boxy and childlike and Mingyu can't help but smile too. "You should eat up. Jihoon isn't the only one that looks like shit." 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Youth**

The next group reunion takes considerably less effort than the last one thanks to Jeonghan insisting they take advantage of the warming weather. Nobody says anything about Jeonghan and Seungcheol's impending military enlistment, opting instead to spam the group chat with different variations of _HYUNG'S ALIVE~~~_

("It's not even that warm outside! Jeonghan hyung just finds any excuse to show off his letterman jacket." Seungkwan said to him while they waited for the others. "Watch, the fans will caption his photos with _Campus Crush Yoon Jeonghan kkkkkk._ " When Jeonghan strolled in later with _Hanyang Univ._ across his back, they both stifled a laugh). 

They arrive at different intervals and Mingyu repeatedly knocks over the same chair in his haste to greet them. It's been almost a year since they last got together. It's a miracle, really, especially with conflicting schedules that had half of them in different timezones. They're here now, all thirteen of them crammed into two small tables at their favourite barbecue restaurant. Mingyu notices the rings on their fingers, the one matching his, even though they haven't promoted as a group for two years. 

Jihoon is one of the last ones to shuffle in, dressed in sweats and fuzzy slippers. His hair is black and cropped a little shorter than Mingyu remembers. There's a loud scraping of chairs against linoleum as Seokmin and Soonyoung get up to greet him; Jihoon patting Seokmin while vehemently avoiding Soonyoung's extended arm.

It feels like Jihoon brought in a gravitational pull with him when he walked into the room and Mingyu almost gets up, legs shaking restlessly. But the moment disappears when everyone returns back to their seat, Jihoon choosing to sit a little ways away next to Wonwoo.

Dinner is a noisy affair as it often is when they're together. They talk over each other, over the sizzling grill and the sounds of their utensils. Mingyu keeps bumping into Minghao's arm, being the only left-handed person in their circle and apologizes when he knocks the food out of Minghao's chopsticks. When Mingyu goes to bite his nails as he listens absentmindedly to the conversations around him, Seungkwan flicks at him with his spoon. When Joshua and Seokmin get into some sort of impromptu rap battle, they all burst into laughter and Mingyu feels the gravitational pull tug at him so he turns to look at Jihoon across the table. Mingyu pretends not to be so taken aback when Jihoon looks at him too, face creasing into a smile.

There's a lull in the conversation, which Seungkwan takes as an opportunity to poke fun at Mingyu's latest acting stint, a romantic comedy about childhood sweethearts growing apart and reuniting again. They all recite lines from the drama fervently, in the same way they did to Joshua all those years ago, which they don't fail to bring up now ( _Surprise!!!_ ). Mingyu shakes his head and tries not to flush.

"You were really good," Seungcheol says seriously after the laughter dies down. "I was pleasantly surprised."

"Super charming." Seungkwan winks and then nudges him. "I'm sure your leading lady thought so too." This garners a lot more teasing with loud exclamations of _OHHHHH_ and Mingyu wants to hide his face in his hands, realizing too late that he hadn't prepared for this to come up.

Jung Chaeyeon is a sweet, pretty girl with fair skin and sparkling eyes. They met as MCs on Inkigayo during a time Mingyu was too occupied (read: scared) of the dating ban imposed on them to talk to her much. But when she was casted to play his romantic interest, they hit it off. Mingyu doesn't have the most illustrious dating history—none of them do as far as he knows—but he was bold enough to ask her on a couple of discreet dates at coffee shops, proud that he didn't completely make a fool of himself.

Still, it feels strange now to be this exposed when it shouldn't be a big deal. Mingyu knows the others have experienced their fair share of dating secrets, passing around notes and phone numbers by any means, including placing them in sandwich wrappers sold at broadcasting stations. The others have seen him in all states of distress throughout their career and yet it's the revelation that he's dating that makes him feel like he's running a fever. 

Mingyu ducks his head as they nudge and wink at him, avoiding saying anything incriminating. He chances a glance at Jihoon, who isn't looking at him anymore but rather staring pointedly at his bowl of rice. For some reason, it makes Mingyu want to stutter out _I mean, she's nice, but we only went on a couple of dates and—_

The topic is finally averted away from him and onto someone else, but Mingyu is too focused on the relief that floods him and avoids eye contact with Jihoon for the rest of the dinner.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Growth**

When the others are featured in magazine issues, Mingyu likes to collect them, feeling proud of the growing pile on his coffee table. The latest one stacked at the top has Junhui standing in a field against a turquoise backdrop of the sky and the one before that is Chan's pictorial in _Elle_.

So when Mingyu picks up the latest issue of _Dazed_ with Jihoon gracing the cover, it isn't supposed to feel any different. At least that's what he tells himself when his heart thuds loudly in his chest as he leafs through the glossy pages, staring at the angles of Jihoon's face. 

Jihoon's hair is a chestnut brown this time, his skin a pale peach ivory with a dust of coral sitting on his cheekbones. They've dressed him in warm spring tones—cream, khaki, goldenrod, lavender, powder blue. He looks boyish and infinitely younger and it reminds Mingyu of when they debuted, a somewhat blurry era that feels too far removed to remember the details. He dog-ears the best photo—Jihoon with a flower in his hair, laughing at something behind the camera—that feels like a token of that time.

Mingyu almost skips the interview portion, too distracted by the pictures, until his name jumps out at him from the text. It's not the most riveting piece of journalism, but he reads it once, twice, then over and over again until he's lost count.

It didn’t surprise him when his solo song trended on Naver, flooded with comments demanding that Pledis release an official version. That happens with Jihoon, when he cultivates something special; everyone wants some part of it. For Mingyu, that used to mean watching other people take and take from something he thought he had a bigger share to. But this time, the words and melodies and harmonies were all _his_. And that was all Mingyu allowed himself to think about; no meaning, no implications, just the idea of Jihoon penning him a song in the early hours of the morning.

Now Mingyu feels blindsided, the article weighing heavy like barrels of gunpowder, too much ammunition than he knows what to do with.

When Minghao swings by on his day off, Mingyu unceremoniously shoves the magazine in his face, admittedly too eager to do anything less. If Minghao senses the crazed look in his eye, he doesn't say anything.

After what feels like a lifetime of Mingyu wearing down his cuticles, Minghao finally looks up, whistling low. All he says is: "He looks _really_ good."

"Yeah, of course he does." Mingyu says, exasperated. The disappointment in his gut makes him press for more answers. "Did you notice anything else?”

"Not really." Minghao shrugs. "The interviewer mentioned you a lot, which I thought was weird—oh! I liked what he said about us. It was really nice." 

It's not Minghao's fault; it's a sick game of Twenty Questions that Mingyu knows won’t lead to the answer he wants, especially when he isn’t brave enough to ask the right questions ( _DO YOU THINK HE MEANT IT, WHEN HE SAID HE’D DO ANYTHING FOR ME? IS THERE MORE TO IT? DOES HE—_ ).

”What's up with you? Your energy is all weird." Minghao says, frowning. "I thought you wanted to go out, not analyze this magazine."

When Mingyu doesn't answer, biting into his nails again, Minghao's face softens. "Did something happen?"

"Not exactly," Mingyu starts and takes a shaky breath, "but what if I want something to?"

There's a pause before Minghao probes gently, "What are you asking?”

It’s strange that he never told Minghao. He supposes there wasn’t very much to say when he was a little in love with all of them, a love that was reciprocated in equal intensity with no sole ownership. It was enough, he told himself then and it should be enough now. But there’s a consequence to spending years and years of pushing the limits on what you’ll sacrifice: you just never learn how to stop.

This time, as he caves into the panic and confusion, Mingyu finally draws the line and says, "I'm asking if he loves me too."

  
  
  
  


**Hope**

_Dazed Korea, Lee Jihoon, Spring Issue._

**Q** : Since finishing promotions with Seventeen, you've really solidified yourself as one of the most sought out producers in the industry.  
**LJH** : [ _laughs_ ] I wouldn't say that. I just enjoy making music. 

**Q** : What's different about making music for Seventeen vs. making music for your hoobaes?  
**LJH** : I guess the only difference is when I made music for Seventeen, I often wrote our music around each member and thought about how it would fit them. There's just... familiarity there. But for my hoobaes, I guess... I just have to remember not to show my age or... swear [ _laughs_ ]

 **Q** : Your former group mate Kim Mingyu recently performed a solo song that you wrote for him at his fansign. Do you still keep in contact with him and your group members?  
**LJH** : Of course. We try to keep in contact as best as we can. 

**Q** : In your group, Mingyu was the rapper but he chose to sing this time. What was it like working on a vocal track with him?  
**LJH** : It was easy. I think everyone thinks someone has to be one thing but people are so much more than that. He could've stuck with rapping but he told me he wanted to sing. He always wants to do well and be better. Even if I told him 'you can't, this won't work', he wouldn't listen to me anyway [ _laughs_ ] So I did what he asked. I mean, I would do anything for him.

 **Q** : The song is called _Like the Beginning_. Where did the inspiration come from?  
**LJH** : It's been a long time since we promoted as a group. I still think about our team everyday. They made me the person that I am. I wanted to convey the feeling of gratitude for all the precious memories we shared and that there's still so much love I feel for them after all these years. 

**Q** : Do you have anything you want to say to Mingyu?  
**LJH** : I'm sorry I'm bad at expressing my thoughts, but I just want to say you've worked really hard and I'm proud of you. I hope your fans liked the song and that... it says everything I couldn't say [ _pauses_ ] This is embarrassing [ _laughs_ ]

  
  
  
  


**Rebirth**

Minghao doesn't ask _All this time?_ because perhaps he's known all along too, picking up all of the clues that Mingyu left behind, a blazing trail he was never quite able to hide.

Instead, Minghao reaches over and squeezes his hand, smile so sincere it takes him back to their trainee days when the language barrier was the toughest, but somehow, through Mingyu's wild gesturing and flailing, Minghao always just _knew_.

"You deserve to be happy." He says it so gently, so reassuringly that Mingyu almost believes him. "To experience love and to experience it properly."

"And if it goes horribly wrong?" Mingyu says, his voice catching, 

"Then you'll experience proper heartbreak too. And I'll be here. You won't ever be alone."

  
  
  
  


**New Love**

If this were one of his dramas, Mingyu would be running through the streets of Gangnam, avoiding mothers with strollers and pushing past strangers to get to the Pledis building. The security guard would try to stop him from hopping over the turnstile (even though there aren't any, derived purely for narrative purposes) but ultimately failing. And Mingyu would keep running and running until he got to Jihoon's studio, breathless and sweating and filled with adrenaline. Jihoon would open the door and Mingyu would—he would—

Even in a scenario fueled entirely by the plot of _Love Actually_ (which is what happens when you flesh out ideas with people like Seokmin and Minghao), Mingyu has no idea what he would say. They don't show you how to do this part in the movies, how to tightly pack your feelings into an eloquent string of words. Jihoon would be good at this, _has_ been good at this for years; said everything he needed to in the songs he wrote for them, in the song he wrote for _him_. Mingyu wishes it could be that easy.

"It _can_ be easy," Seokmin starts, responding so naturally to all of this that Mingyu forgives him for all the horrible suggestions, "if you just let us take you to the nearest craft shop to get some Bristol board and glue—" (Well, _almost_ forgives him). 

"Get out," Mingyu says, pointing to the door and they all start talking over each other in a flurry of more unhelpful suggestions and mild insults ("Just tell him the truth, you coward!").

They're in the middle of bickering when someone knocks on the door, throwing them into a silence.

Minghao and Seokmin turn to look at him in eerie unison, eyes wide. "Are you expecting someone?" Seokmin asks.

"Not that I know of," Mingyu says slowly and already, Seokmin is scaring himself even though it's broad daylight and Mingyu knows nobody would come knocking at this time of day except for his manager ("Serial killer—no, stalker! No—both!" Seokmin hisses and pulls Minghao in front of him as a shield). 

When Mingyu opens the door, his heart jumps in his throat, not in the horror-thriller way Seokmin was brandishing, but in the _holy shit this might actually be Love_ kind of way, because Jihoon is standing in front of him, nose and cheeks a little pink from the sharp chill outside.

It almost doesn't feel real to have Jihoon here in front of him, so close that Mingyu could reach out and touch him if he wanted. Something tugs at his hand, but he keeps them at his sides, digging his nails into his palm to stop himself from doing anything stupid.

"I don't really know what I'm doing." Jihoon says immediately as a greeting, voice quiet. It's such a familiar sentence for Mingyu, his own daily mantra when he feels particularly lost and off-kilter trying to maneuver the world by himself. But Jihoon has always been steadfast and calm, confident in a way Mingyu has always admired. The Jihoon standing in front of him now is fragile almost, vulnerable to a fault, walls down like they never existed. 

"That's okay," Mingyu replies, hands suddenly clammy. "I don't either. You know, generally."

"A fan once asked me," Jihoon says, the tips of his ears a bright red, "what I would do if I liked someone and I said do nothing. Well. Here I am. Doing something.”

Mingyu’s brain short circuits, tricks him into thinking his mouth is filled with cotton, suddenly incapable of speech, which only pushes Jihoon to fidget even more.

"I just want to say this one thing.” Jihoon pauses. “All those times we talked about the future, it made me realize I could imagine a life with you more than I could a life with music and that—that was. _A lot_. I don't regret my decision because I've been making music for years now and I'm _happy_ but—you know, I wrote that song for you just to see what it would feel like, but I didn’t have to because I knew all along. It might be too late, I don’t know, but maybe, we could...hotwire that car now or something. I want to do that with you."

Jihoon flushes then, his fight-or-flight instincts activated as he shakes his head, "This was bad. I didn't really prepare for this—"

"No, no, no, no," Mingyu lunges forward then, pulling at the cuffs of Jihoon's jacket like he's about to fly away, "no, no, no, hyung. Me too! I mean—okay, I have something to say and it'll make you feel better, I promise."

Jihoon remains tight-lipped and on the verge of a meltdown, but there's no indication of him sprinting away. Mingyu takes it as a good sign.

Mingyu holds onto the sleeve of Jihoon's jacket like a lifeboat, floored by the sudden urgency to hold Jihoon's hand, his brain feeling so fuzzy he can't seem to think straight. He takes a breath. "I want that farm with you. I mean, it doesn't have to be a _literal_ farm, but I want it all with you. Whatever that means. Even if it means Soonyoung has to third wheel us for the rest of our lives because you love him more. I don't really care."

"You think I love Soonyoung more than you?" Jihoon asks, incredulously, blinking up at him.

"Seungcheol, then?" Mingyu offers then shakes his head. "No, I get it, you have your _person_ and that's fine if it's not me but—"

"Were you not listening?" Jihoon says, frowning. "You're the person I want to be with. I mean, I think it's a given that you're my person." 

It's funny how diametrically opposing their reactions are; Mingyu is smiling so hard, he doesn't think he'll ever stop while Jihoon's eyes are closed and he's breathing sharply through his nose, like he can't believe he's capable of saying these words. But Jihoon has always been capable and Mingyu is suddenly filled with so much pride that he helped—they all did—at chipping away at those walls Jihoon built over his formative years. It comes through now, the little smile tugging at Jihoon's mouth despite the theatrics.

"I think I'm going to die," Jihoon says.

Mingyu steps closer. "Don't die. I haven't kissed you yet."

Jihoon flushes, a pretty cherry blossom flush blooms across his cheeks and down his neck, but Mingyu doesn't get to enjoy that, not when Seokmin and Minghao exist in this world solely to ruin all of his moments.

"PLEASE. I AM BEGGING YOU. DO NOT SCAR ME FOR LIFE." Seokmin shouts in a noise-complaint decibel as he jumps out with his eyes covered. Behind him, Minghao looks embarrassed and flustered, whether from eavesdropping or because of Seokmin, Mingyu can't tell.

"Oh. I didn't know you guys were here. Behind the door. Listening. This whole time." Jihoon says blankly like all of his emotions have left the stratosphere. 

Seokmin has the decency to look a little apologetic, but then he's grinning, eyes disappearing into half moons, pulling them into a messy group hug with Minghao trailing behind him. "I'm sorry hyung, but this is really exciting. I'm so excited! I'm telling everyone in our group chat as soon as this hug is over."

It isn't exactly where Mingyu wants to be, crammed in between Seokmin and Minghao when Jihoon is a literal arm's length away. But he finds he can't be too upset by their codependency. Seokmin and Minghao's unadulterated happiness for them is infectious, painting everything amber with its light. Jihoon is laughing, a bright gold spot in Mingyu's line of vision. 

When they lock eyes over Seokmin's arm, Jihoon looks at him like he's laying out all the time they have, infinite and boundless; a look built on years and years of gravitating towards each other when their bodies were filled with laughter, on all of the intricate rituals performed to be in Jihoon's space, on all their plans that came spilling out so easily, like they were reciting past lifetimes together instead of the future. 

Even a moment like this won't last long, because Minghao will interrupt them, telling Junhui on the phone, "Yeah, they're just making eyes at each other now. It's kinda awful, but also kinda great." 

But it won't matter, because for once, Mingyu doesn't need an escape plan. There's nothing to escape from when Jihoon is his person and has been all along.

  
_  
Like the beginning  
I hope for all my times with you  
To be wonderful and warm  
As I yearn and yearn for that, I call for you.  
_

_Compared to our beginning  
Even if we become weary and sulky  
Let's go back to when we considered each other precious  
Like the beginning  
Just like now*  
_

**Author's Note:**

> \+ if you read this until the end, thank you i love you i hope you are safe and well 💗  
> \+ mingyu's solo song translations can be found [here](https://twitter.com/17_HAMZZI/status/1012900030762528769?s=20)  
> \+ please note that [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E2crIO3da2A) (specifically 0:47) is what i was thinking about this whole time when mingyu and jihoon lock eyes and therefore i am in a lot of pain :)


End file.
